The Review

The internet has been ablaze with articles about “Young Men are Falling Behind” and the “Men’s Loneliness Epidemic.” Everyone has their own opinion on why this is an ever-growing trend among Millennial and Gen Z men. Have societal and historical factors influenced young men’s ability to cultivate self-motivation over time? Is it ingrained in their subconscious that things are supposed to come easy, and so they wait for opportunities to fall into their laps? Though the reason behind this lack of ambition is never explicitly addressed, Kate Greathead’s The Book of George is an introspective look into George’s life from his teen years into his late 30s and how he too fell victim to a cycle of stagnation and self-sabotage, shaped by both societal expectations and his own inability to adapt.

You, dear reader, have probably met a George, fallen in love with a George, or even sired a George. A George is someone who starts on an even playing field with his peers—same high school, college, job. During this time, the George is attractive, smart, and charismatically charming. The whole world is the George’s oyster. The George exhibits tremendous potential, but as time goes on, they tends to drastically revert into themselves. It is self-sabotaging in a way. They are handed opportunity after opportunity and yet always seems to fumble the bag. Instead of investing in themselves, the George falls deeper into solitude, turning to video games and libations or recreational drug use to preoccupy their time. In the end, what remains is a lingering question: is the George ever truly capable of greatness, or was the idea of their potential just an illusion all along?

Greathead’s portrayal of George is empathetic and frustrating. He is not a bad person, nor is he without intelligence or ability. However, his stagnation and lack of ambition become increasingly difficult to witness, especially once he enters a relationship with Jenny, a driven law student whom he subconsciously begins to take for granted. As their dynamic unfolds, it becomes evident that George’s passivity not only affects his own life but also strains those who care for him, further emphasizing the novel’s themes of missed opportunities and quiet self-destruction.

I won’t lie—I struggled with how to rate this novel. The beauty of The Book of George lies in its subtle, nuanced writing. Greathead masterfully captures the small disappointments, the gradual retreat from the world, and the passive acceptance of mediocrity with remarkable precision. I found myself disconnected from George’s journey, yet completely engrossed in the way his story was told. The third-person narration is poetic and captivating, a stark contrast to its withdrawn and frustrating protagonist. While I admired the craftsmanship of the novel, I ultimately found myself disengaged from its central character’s trajectory.

In the end, The Book of George is a novel that lingers—whether in frustration, reflection, or reluctant admiration. It captures a modern existential crisis, reflecting a growing demographic of men who struggle to transition from youthful potential to realized success. While the book may not appeal to every reader, it sparks meaningful discussions about modern challenges, personal responsibility, and societal pressures. It is a sobering, sometimes infuriating read that leaves the reader wondering: how many Georges do we know, and how many more will there be?

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Short Review (AKA TLDR)

Kate Greathead’s The Book of George is an introspective look into George’s life from his teen years into his late 30s and how he too fell victim to a cycle of stagnation and self-sabotage, shaped by both societal expectations and his own inability to adapt. Greathead’s portrayal of George is empathetic and frustrating. He is not a bad person, nor is he without intelligence or ability. However, his stagnation and lack of ambition become increasingly difficult to witness.

I won’t lie—I struggled with how to rate this novel. The beauty of The Book of George lies in its subtle, nuanced writing. Greathead masterfully captures the small disappointments, the gradual retreat from the world, and the passive acceptance of mediocrity with remarkable precision. I found myself disconnected from George’s journey, yet completely engrossed in the way his story was told. The third-person narration is poetic and captivating, a stark contrast to its withdrawn and frustrating protagonist. While I admired the craftsmanship of the novel, I ultimately found myself disengaged from its central character’s trajectory.

In the end, The Book of George is a novel that lingers—whether in frustration, reflection, or reluctant admiration. It captures a modern existential crisis, reflecting a growing demographic of men who struggle to transition from youthful potential to realized success.